On Friday, September 11th, I found myself watching a television newscast of the September 11, 2001, New York World Trade Center Twin Towers attacks.  It was for me one of those life events which I shall always remember  where exactly where I was and what I was doing when it happened. I took a moment and called my old friend, Rick Skeen in New York. It was as if he was expecting my call. He and I were driving west on the Massachusetts Turnpike listening to the radio when the news suddenly hit the air waves. We continued our usual banter for a moment or two  before the reality of it hit us.

We looked at one another and exclaimed simultaneously, "Is this for real?” It was like something from a fictional horror drama.  In fact, I thought instantly about the infamous CBS Radio broadcast on October 30, 1938, "War of the Worlds,” in which actor Orson Wells presented a fictional radio drama as if it was a live broadcast.  Millions of listeners thought planet earth was being invaded by Martians. On this day of infamy, on 9/11/2001, it turned out to be just the opposite.  It was the real deal!

Rick and I were on our way to an important sales presentation at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (M.I.T.) in Cambridge, MA that morning, where they planned to construct a major data center, hopefully using some of our manufactured products. Our company was Hopewell Precision Products, Inc., a manufacturer of metal enclosures for use in internet data centers.  Rick was the President and CEO of our company.  He was my boss.  I was the company’s National Sales Director. Incidentally, we later made the sale and it was a big feather for my hat, but the news on the radio of the Twin Towers attack sucked up all the oxygen from the news cycle for several days to come.

Meanwhile, my oldest daughter in Florida was also following the news of the attack and had just heard that the planes which flew into the Towers had been highjacked from the Boston Airport.  Knowing that my job in New York entailed quite a bit of air travel, she called my company office to speak to me, but was advised that I was not in. "Where is he?” she asked.

"I think he went to Boston this morning,” the Secretary told her.

"Is he flying out of Boston?” my daughter quickly inquired.

"Yes, I think so,” replied the Secretary, who had not been following the current news alerts.

My daughter immediately flew into a panic. Having heard the flight number announced on the television, she exclaimed, "Oh My! Oh My God! What was his flight number? Please hurry and tell me.” It took a few moments for my daughter to be informed and consoled that I had not been a passenger on either of the Boston flights that had flown into the World Trade Center that morning. Nevertheless, it was for me, and for her, an event that triggers our memories every year at this time.  Neither of us will ever forget this momentous occasion.

My recollections of the giant Twin Towers collapsing following the 911 terrorist attacks was only strengthened by my frequent visits there on previous occasions. The World Trade Center was located in the heart of Manhattan’s Wall Street financial district, a place where I often made sales calls. Driving the 60-70 miles north to New York City from my home in East Fishkill, New York via the Taconic Parkway and coming into the city over the George Washington Bridge on the West Side Highway, it was my usual practice to park my car at the first parking garage I could find to avoid the heavy Manhattan traffic congestion, then catch a subway train further south to the World Trade Center substation.  On some occasions I took the train all the way from the Poughkeepsie Station to the World Trade Center.  The two-hour scenic ride along the Hudson River was pleasant, historic and exciting for an Alabama country boy. The first floor of the World Trade Center alone was a huge array of restaurants, shops and businesses, with another 100 floors of business suites rising straight up into the clouds.  Thousands of people dressed in the garb of many cultures hurried to and fro to their various destinations, brushing shoulders as they hurried along. Having actually seen the size of it, the very thought of this magnificent structure collapsing onto itself defied my limited country-bumpkin imagination.

Months later, at a certain large U. S. airport, I was hurrying to catch my flight when I accidentally bumped into a well-dressed gentleman who also seemed to be rushing to his destination. "Watch where you are going!” the man angrily shouted to me as he continued on his path. He was a dark-skinned man, perhaps a native of the very country which had attacked our great nation only a few months earlier.  I was suddenly overcome with rage.  I shouted insults back at the man and ran after him for a short distance, challenging him to stop and fight me right there in the middle of that great big airport.  He looked back as he fled away from me.

Afterward, I felt ashamed of my ridiculous, immature  behavior. Yet, every year at about this time, I feel aroused by those same angry feelings I felt those twenty-five long years ago when our enemies attacked us.  I have not forgotten that America has enemies who hate the country which I love. May God Bless America!